Molly’s head popped up from the pillow like a cork.
“Indeed she won’t then! Marry me off, indeed! I should like to see any one try it!” she blazed, indignantly.
“Hi, honey, doane you want get married?” Ginny Ann inquired, in amazement.
“No, I don’t! I hate men, every one of them—deceitful prigs!” cried Molly, violently, adding to herself that the man she had seen tonight she hated worst of all.
Wanting to get rid of Ginny Ann, she put down her head again, pretending to snore audibly, and the woman retired, muttering to herself:
“Dat’s de strangest young gal I eber did see! Doane wanter git married, she say! Well, Lordy! she sartinly is diff’runt from any oder young gal in de worl’!”
CHAPTER VII.
Molly did not have any “larks” the next day, for she was so stiff and sore she had to remain in bed all day, and submit to the fussy attendance of Ginny Ann, and the kindness of her remorseful aunt who, blaming herself for the girl’s accident, did all in her power to atone for it, even to promising her a month at the White Sulphur Springs, and freely pardoning her for sending her money to Molly Trueheart, the actress’ daughter.
“And I sent Agnes Walker back to town yesterday and bought two new dresses for you,” she said. “And I’ve trunks full of things as good as new that she’s going to make over for you to wear.”
“Oh, Aunt Thalia, I don’t deserve ’em, I can’t take ’em,” Molly said, conscience-stricken at all this kindness. She said to herself reproachfully, “And I wrote to Lou that she was an old dragoness! What a shame! She has turned real good, and it makes me feel meaner than ever. Oh, I can’t take her presents and go to the Springs with her, and I mustn’t say a word, I must wait for Lou’s letter. She will certainly let me come home at once!”